


Beginnings, Endings, and Now

by camelyas



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: F/M, LioGalo is background, M/M, Meis-centric, OCs are all relatively minor, Possibly Unrequited Love, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23022274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camelyas/pseuds/camelyas
Summary: Promepolis falls and rises again. The Burnish can now indulge in simplicity - going to a convenience store, ponder over what drink to get, and fall in love.----Or, in which Meis realizes that life is simple now - and perhaps that's okay. Perhaps the simplicity of domestic life is a blessing, but yet, even with this simplicity, life is wonderfully complicated. Perhaps a ride back to Dallas ought to fix it up.SLOW BURN
Relationships: Gueira/Meis (Promare), Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	1. Prelude to Flame

The sunset bled oranges and pink as the crown of light gradually sunk below the city skyline. Meis stood upon the rooftop, unlit cigarette in hand. A pause, as he thought for a while --

The Burnish could never get their hands on cigarettes. He remembered Guiera grinning doggedly at him, gesticulating animatedly at some worn-down advertisement for KOOL cigarettes. What he said - something like... "Oi, Meis, check it out, now we can be like them big scary dudes!" as if his Burnish armor wasn’t a hulking mass of intimidation.

He looked at the sad little rolled tobacco tube in his hands, and put a finger to its tip to light it.

He waited.

And he waited.

Perhaps it was the wind? Oh, no. Wait. The cigarette retreated to his pocket.

He could burn now,

and he couldn't burn now.

_end prelude._


	2. How To Cook Rice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tying your hair up as you dodge ice bullets could be considered a ritual.
> 
> Ah, but waking up for work is one of those newer rituals that a certain pair of ex-Burnish have to get accustomed to.

“Oi, Meis!” was more or less an incantation in a certain cramped little apartment in some corner of Promepolis. It was something of a useful spell, because it:

  1. Woke Meis up in the morning
  2. Alerted Meis to something
  3. Caused Meis’s heart to beat just that much faster



And so the incantation was repeated once more that morning, accompanied by a chorus of birds chirping. Alongside the chirping came the smell of cheap coffee, the beep of a rice cooker going off. This was life now. To be able to be annoyed by the creak of floorboards, to fuss over the smell of shampoo - those were the mediocre sacrifices they had made when they were Burnish. To think that, if things were ever so slightly different, he’d hear “Oi, Meis!” in an entirely different context… Perhaps, if he allowed his mind to wander, that spell was cast while he lay in his arms…

But no time for that. The coffee was gulped down, the rice fluffed up, and the two stools occupied by the rag-tag duo of Gueira and Meis. Offhandedly, as he watched Gueira nimbly pierce yesterday’s salmon with his chopsticks, the blue-haired ex-Burnish allowed himself to think. Miso soup and thoughts, yes, that was it.

Meis used to be a Meis Nguyen, and Gueira used to be a Gueira Rosario. Oh - but don’t think of it in _that_ way! That was wishful, blissful dreaming at that. And dreaming costs money, dear. There was no name-switching nor name-appending with the fanfare of bells and rice. Gueira Rosario became Gueira because he wanted the bloodline to stay free of shame. Meis Nguyen became Meis because he wanted to break free of the shame imposed on him by the bloodline. It wasn’t exactly fashionable for a family to have a random Burnish child in it. So, despite the loss of last names – for example, they’d have no dramatic effect like shouting “Lio Fotia and Galo Thymos!” - they were simply still Gueira and Meis. And perhaps being just Gueira and Meis was fine. 

“Meis, if you’re not gonna eat your salmon, lemme at it,” said aforementioned redhead mumbled through a mouthful of breakfast. Meis’s natural reaction was to squawk and snatch the salmon before the ravenous “fun-sized Miami” did. Said action was deflected with a laugh that made the morning sun’s rays seem more… vibrant. Somehow. One breakfast later, the duo clamored out of their apartment to greet another workday. Gueira was clutching a protein drink in his hand as he shuffled down the stairs to greet Meis, who had opted for the elevator instead.

“You insist on taking the stairs?” Meis flipped his hair at Gueira, a gesture not unlike making eye contact for anyone else. “Isn’t it at least a little bit cumbersome?” Gueira laughed another sunny laugh. “How am I supposed ta become swole as hell on the elevator?” He flexed his biceps, realized it was the wrong muscle, and attempted to flex his leg muscles. 

“Just admit you don’t know how to push buttons,” Meis snickered, which led to a squawk from Gueira this time around. “I mean, you can hardly operate a rice cooker of all things, soo….”

“It’s not that!” A pout appeared on Gueira’s face as they settled on the bus stop’s benches. “It’s just that I don’t know… the secret Asian strategy for rice.”

This earned a hearty laugh from Meis – a rare sight within itself. “A-A secret Asian rice strategy? Since whenever did you hear of that?” 

“Galo! The kid! Boss’s boyfriend! He told me about the Secret Asian Rice Strategy when we were cleaning the firehouse! Yanno! Passed down from generation to generation!” He huffed, and a puff of air followed. Ah, Meis had focused so much on _this_ source of sunbeams and warmth that he had forgotten it was literally 30 degrees out. 

He then suddenly leaned into Gueira’s immediate space, wearing a sly grin. “You sure you ready for this, hm, sacred Asian technique, then?” The other man nodded frantically, a bit too engrossed in the secretive nature of this otherwise trivial manner.

The invasion of space was gone in an instant. “Just fill up the water line to the second wrinkle on your pointer finger,” Meis flatly droned. He watched Gueira’s expression go from puzzlement, to enlightenment, and finally landing at confusion. 

“That’s it?” He almost sounded _disappointed_.

“Yup.” Meis showed his pass to the bus driver. “That’s it. Now let’s go grab a seat or a thing to hold onto, yeah?”

Gueira yammered on the entire bus ride about how Galo unnecessarily hyped up sticking your fingers in rice water, and Meis would’ve retorted with smart remarks had it not been for a simple realization:

He could worry about things like _cooking rice_ now.

Learning how to cook rice was vastly different from planning explosions and raids on Foresight Foundation buildings. It was a bit bizarre that, yes, here he was, looking at trees and dog-walkers pass by instead of burning carnage and broken glass. He was informing Gueira, ex-Highly Dangerous Burnish, on how to cook rice.

“…and he said it was sacred! Like some sort of ancient art! Or blessed crops! Or--! Hey, Meis, are you _crying_?”

A light punch to the shoulder, and a huff. “Let me enjoy my domestic bliss, cottonball.”

“That comes with nicknames now? Alright, sweet potato!”


End file.
